Books

Books have always been dangerous for me. I had my first all-nighter not at a slumber party but while reading "Battlefield Earth". I am still in love with Daisy Miller and Lady Brett Ashley. I have a crush on Harper Lee's Scout. I mourn Kiowa's death and that of Ted Lavender and the other men who fought with Jimmy Cross. All the science I know comes from Kurt Vonnegut and my copy of the Guide to the Galaxy. Owen Meany helps my find God or at least purpose.

I can watch violence and gore on television without much impact but a copy of "Cujo" will get me locking doors and leaving lights on at night. First person novels have me feeling guilty over things "I" never actually did.

I have just finished Sting's "Broken Music" (interesting story, bad writing) and have just started Alice Steinbach's "Without Reservation". That, and the fact that we've been in the same house for the last few weeks, is really getting me restless to travel. And right now it really doesn't matter where. England would be fine. Travel to Europe and find every bar played by the Pogues or Morrisey. Flow down the Yellow River with Amy Tan. Watch "Apocolypse Now" and read "Heart of Darkness" and then off to Asia by way of the Congo. Now that I've reclaimed "We Regret to Inform That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed Along With Our Families" even Rwanda looks good.

I'm hoping that picking up Rick Warren will redirect my perspective. Our current church home is great and we're getting plugged into a small group but my books are putting my focus a bit further out.